“I don't ask you to go there, you can give them the signal from the head of the bayou. All I want is for you to stop and light a fire on the shore. They'll know what that means. I'll give you a horse and fifty dollars for the job.”
Hicks' eyes sparkled, but he only said
“Make it twice that and maybe we can deal.”
Racked and tortured, Ware hesitated; but the sun was slipping into the west, his windows blazed with the hot light.
“You swear you'll do your part?” he said thickly. He took his purse from his pocket and counted out the amount due Hicks. He named the total, and paused irresolutely.
“Don't you want the fire lighted?” asked Hicks. He was familiar with his employer's vacillating moods.
“Yes,” answered Ware, his lips quivering; and slowly, with shaking fingers, he added to the pile of bills in Hicks' hand.
“Well, take care of yourself,” said Hicks, when the count was complete. He thrust the roll of bills into his pocket and moved to the door.
Alone again, the planter collapsed into his chair, breathing heavily, but his terrors swept over him and left him with a savage sense of triumph. This passed, he sprang up, intending to recall Hicks and unmake his bargain. What had he been thinking of—safety lay only in flight! Before he reached the door his greed was in the ascendant. He dropped down on the edge of his bed, his eyes fixed on the window. The sun sank lower. From where he sat he saw it through the upper half of the sash, blood-red and livid in a mist of fleecy clouds.
It was in the tops of the old oaks now, which sent their shadows into his room. Again maddened by his terrors he started up and backed toward the door; but again his greed, the one dominating influence in his life, vanquished him.